It’s July 15. It’s my Grandmother’s birthday.

I’m in Southeast Alaska, the nation’s largest national rainforest. It rains 13 feet a year annually in Ketchikan. But today it’s all sun and civilized life as I make my first peace corps call from my office.

I’m at work. I clock out, call the number at 10:01am (one minute late!), I introduce myself, mute myself, wait.

I’m certain that I am the only person calling from AKDT- Alaska Daylight Time. There is bright sunshine to partner the daylight, even.

My mind and heart are in a million places and none of them are preparing for Peace Corps. Peace Corps has been a little flag I’ve pointed to when people ask me where I’m going. Peace Corps has been the celery seed in my pantry. I’m sure it’s on a shelf in my pantry behind a dented tuna can, but I haven’t seen it or used it. Peace Corps is perched in my future like an eagle’s nest I can’t make out in the trees without binocs.

So here I am on this call, trying to find the celery seed. But actually my stomach has been in Shawshank Redemption for the last week. I am being lured in by a fisherman who is charming, wild and generous but oh so different from me and my life. After all: Peace Corps, leaving, and winter in Alaska (poops mcgee) would never be my cuppa tea. But he and his kid have been effortlessly charming me throughout the rehearsal process of the town play and my heart is doing double time of the marimba. I don’t even know the marimba. But I’m on my first peace corps phone call trying to find the rhythm.

On the other coast my Grandmother is suffering and losing the fight. I call her. I facetime her. It’s not until two days later that it dawns on me, I need to get my butt to Ketchikan Airport and back to Georgia.

Halfway through the peace corps call, my phone starts up “Fars” (my dad). He doesn’t leave a message. My heart is in my stomach and through the follicles above my skull. My fingers are jittery. I’m thinking it’s “that call” and I’m out of my body, asking myself how this feels like a soap opera.

So that’s the size of things during the first Peace Corps phone call.

I was obviously distracted, to put it mildly, but I was somehow in three places at once. I was suffering in Atlanta, jitter-bugging in Alaska and over the telephone wires taking notes about Central America. I was perfectly triangled.

What I remember is that it was very stiff, no one was comfortable to ask about wifi or whether or not we need sleeping bags.

I did chime in to ask about the relationship with the host families. I think I also asked what the current volunteers do when their internal resources are low..

Short and sweet and the call was over.

I went back to reality, to rushing home to Nana, to doing the marimba, to being in Alaska and not knowing what being in Alaska even means on that particular day.